


Spider Silk

by CreepyGamerPasta



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Scarring, Endgame hurt me, F/F, F/M, Feels, Memory Loss, PTSD, Physical Scarring, an x reader but you get a name, broken relationships, now I must hurt you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-10-26 12:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20742206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreepyGamerPasta/pseuds/CreepyGamerPasta
Summary: (A Fem!Reader/Natasha Romanov fanfic.) You and Natasha were close once, lovers in a time when it was dangerous to love anyone, not to mention another woman. You didn't talk about work; the blood on both of your hands would never leave, but together, you could forget it until the next mission at least. But then you had your final mission. You'd never see her again. But she would see you. And when she did, well, she'd need all the luck in the world to escape you, one of Hydra's best soldiers.





	1. A Better Time

**Author's Note:**

> You've probably read the summary. This is an x reader, but you get a name in this one, so I won't use Y/n or anything like that. Characters will refer to you as your "name" in the fic. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start.

The mission had been easy, too easy to have been assigned to you. Of course, with the amount of work you did, you weren't going to complain. For once, you could actually go home early. Maybe even stay for a few days before your next mission. 

The wind blew harshly, rubbing your nose and cheeks raw. The threadbare scarf around your neck did little to keep out the biting cold, your coat desperately needing to be stitched in key areas or even better, replaced. The roads to your apartment were too iced over to drive on, and no government official cared whether you could safely walk home. Most women would be crazy to wear heels in these conditions, and indeed, you were regretting that decision right now, but your warm boots were completely shredded. Okay, yes, the objective had been easy enough, but you probably should have been more careful on that mission. Your poor feet.

You stopped, hearing a sharp crack in the icy road. The man had been stupid to follow you. In an instant, his neck was snapped, his body left out in the street. By morning, the snow would bury him completely.

You adjusted your scarf and kept moving. Fucking idiot cost you a good two minutes. You could have been home two minutes earlier if it weren't for him.

Finally, you reached your apartment building. The stairs groaned in the cold, threatening to break at any moment. The snow was so thick that you could barely see the door in front of you. Your hands fumbled for your key, but eventually you just picked the lock to get in. It was easier.

You shut the door against the wind, which was starting to blow with even greater ferocity. You kicked off your heels, hanging your coat, hat, and scarf on the pegs on the wall. 

A pair of hands held your shoulders, trailing down to your waist. "Nadya," you said, "you cannot even wait until I get into the living room?"

"Can you blame me?" said the red-haired woman. This was your partner, your companion, your dearest friend. Your lover. Her old name was Natalia, but she got a new one at her Graduation - Natasha. You (and only you) called her Nadya. 

"At least let me warm up first," you protested. Natasha raised her eyebrows but glanced down at your blue feet. "What happened to your boots?" she asked. 

You shifted a bit uncomfortably. "It was my mission. My boots didn't make it." 

She pursed her lips. "You need to be more careful. Now, come, I'll warm some water."

You didn't argue. If Natasha wanted to take care of you, that was fine. More than fine. You would make up for it later.

The two of you ate in silence. Thankfully, neither of you needed very much food thanks to your training. Even then, though, you knew that food was running short. Hopefully, one of you would be paid soon, either with money or supplies.

You both washed and dried the plates, careful not to use too much water. The pipes were likely to freeze soon; in fact, it was amazing that they had not already.

"Now, come on, I've missed you," purred Natasha, wrapping her arms around you. 

You closed your eyes, letting her lead you to your bed. You missed her, too, and God, this was heaven. It wasn't perfect, but it was as close to heaven as either of you would get. Just the two of you, living a normal(-ish) life, choosing to be with each other, not with a client or a target for a mission.

Tonight, you wrapped her in your arms. Generally, you two took turns doing this, acting as the stronger one to comfort the other in a world so dark and cold. She fell asleep against your chest, listening to your heart. 

Two weeks. You had your piece of heaven for two weeks. And then it would be back to work.

You let your eyes close. Two weeks. Two weeks was good.


	2. Box of Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nippity nyoom, nippity nesent, here we go, back to the present

Natasha almost killed Clint with a whisk, a pancake-mix-and-chocolate-chip dripping whisk. "Barton, what the hell?" she snapped. Clint swore loudly.

"Jesus, Nat, you all right?" he asked. Natasha glared at him. Clint stared at the mixing bowl. "...Pancakes?" he said hesitantly. 

Natasha sighed. "What do you want, Clint?" He shrugged, holding up a cardboard box. "Fury said you might want this. Apparently, SHIELD has been holding onto some of your things. Er, that is, some things they believe may be yours." He set the box down and sat in the lounge across from the kitchen to watch TV. 

He hadn't been wrong. The cardboard box had quite a few things that Natasha had lost or swore she would never see again over the past few decades. A ballet slipper from her younger days, a few old photographs that were partially burned or torn, a couple old garments... nothing really worth keeping. If anything, these things were proof that she wasn't that good of a spy back then. Someone was able to go back and collect things from over the past few decades. Nothing that important though-

Natasha's blood ran cold. 

At the bottom of the box was a stack of letters. No one was supposed to see these. For years, Natasha thought they were gone, destroyed, or maybe locked up in a metal tin among forgotten KGB files. Not even Natasha had read all of them.

And yet, she would never forget the first one...

It had been during the 70s. 1972 to be exact when she read the first letter. Even now, in 2012, the ink stains were still there, a few blotches from where her tears had hit the paper.

_My dearest Nadya,_

_You must know by now that I am away on my mission. I do not know when I will return, and my instincts tell me that it will be a long time, if ever._

_I apologize. That last sentence must make you confused. _

_The mission that I was assigned to, the one I told you I had to be completely focused for, it will likely not end well for me. I fear that I will not return to you._

_Put bluntly, it is a suicide mission. If there is any chance for me to survive, it will not be for very long._

_I want you to move on. _

_I know that it will be hard._

_All I can give you is a stack of letters to tell you how much I love you and what my thoughts are, just as if I were there, talking to you._

_Actually, no, I know it is nowhere near the same thing. I wish I could be there, but this is as close as I can manage._

_I love you, Nadya, more than anything this world has to offer. _

_And I'm sorry._

The last words were blurred out from decades old tears. 

Natasha was not ready for this. Hell, she hadn't been ready for this when you wrote her these in the first place. What was she supposed to do?

Well, either way, it did not really matter that much now. If you had been certain that you were going to die back then, there was no way you were still alive now. 

Natasha glanced up from the letter. Clint was still watching TV, oblivious to world around him. That was good. She did not want him to see her like this. She hadn't cried this time, but somehow, Clint always knew when she was upset no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

Quietly, feet lighter than cat paws, she crept back to her room with the bound stack of letters. It had been forty years, so maybe it was time to read those things. All of them. Properly.

It was going to be rough. Rough was an understatement.

It was going to be one of the most painful experiences of her life. Even with all the torture she had been through before, nothing would be more tear-wrenching, nothing would shatter her heart like the letters she was going to read.

Natasha Romanov never got to say goodbye to her one and only love.


End file.
